


The First Christmas

by JustAnotherGhostwriter



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherGhostwriter/pseuds/JustAnotherGhostwriter
Summary: Charity thought she'd have a bit more time until she had to face the uncomfortable truth that was Christmas. But she should have known that being married to Phineas Taylor Barnum meant that the absurd could come at any moment, even as early as November.





	The First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> For the TGS Secret Santa over on Tumblr. Trekkitkat requested Phin/Charity with the prompt: "For heaven’s sake, we haven’t even gotten to Thanksgiving yet! Take that garland down, now, hey - HEY - I swear, put that down right now-" 
> 
> No warnings, really; just fluff. 
> 
> Posted on Tumblr 23 December, 2018.

The chill in the November air promised a bitterly cold winter, and prompted Charity to stand in the middle of their small apartment once the sun went down, making notes of places to fix up as best she could the next day. No matter how many cracks, holes and wobbles she and Phineas created ways to repair, there always seemed to be more. It worried her husband more than her, driven as he was by his desire to make her life with him as lavish and comfortable as the life she’d come from despite her reassurances that she needed only him by her side for her to be completely content. For this reason, she did as many of the repairs as she could by herself, telling Phineas about them only once they were no longer a concern.

For all his ability to knuckle down and do the necessary hard work, no matter what it was, her Phineas saw his world as it _could_ be – as it _should_ be – and knocks to that vision disheartened him in a way that her more jaded self could sympathise with, but not empathise with. He was, after all, the only one in the sea of people who had made up her life who taught her about dreaming. Phineas was patient and loving and encouraging, but it was still sometimes easier for her to view the world the way she had been taught to and not the way her heart, safely held in her husband’s life-beaten hands that also reached for reckless near-insane _passion_ at its most alive, yearned to see things. He protected her from the dead-souled cynicism that she’d been born into and she was determined to protect him from the crushing disappointment that reality could be to a dreamer.

And so Charity stood quietly in the middle of her apartment building, making mental notes of places to fix and shoving spare clothes, cloths and even crockery into the places she could to provide a temporary solution for the evening. She had no sooner finished wedging closed a stubborn window with one of her hair clips than the door opened, depositing her weary and wind-beaten husband and the box he held inside. His face had been pinched and drawn with worry and frustration and disappointment, but when he caught sight of her the light that still made her belly flip-flop and squirm sparked in his eyes.

“Good evening, love,” he said, warm and soft-faced again as he took her in.

She found herself smiling back – the only response to Phineas Taylor Barnum’s smile that she’d ever known – feeling warmth trickle down her chest and up into her cheeks. That same jaded part of her had half expected the warnings that she would soon lose the rush of giddy, breathless love whenever Phineas looked at her to be correct, but they’d been truly, messily married for almost six months now and she still nearly burst with emotion whenever she was with him. Their kiss of greeting was just shy of being chaste, and some bemused part of her realised that the apartment had ceased to be cold at all, and that she may have just found the solution to their chill problem.

“Did you manage to get what you needed at the auction?” she finally broke away to ask, taking his hat and coat from him in a practised movement.

Some of the light and softness ebbed, allowing the pinched-tiredness to creep back on to his features. “No. No I…” His gaze slid away from her. “Others bet more than we could afford.”

Her heart squeezed in sympathy, and she slotted herself into his side. “Phin… I’m sorry.”

“Well. Nothing can be done about it now. We’ll have to do the best we can with what we have.”

His tone was light and unaffected, but she knew him well enough to detect the rawness under the unruffled reaction. And she knew precisely how much he’d needed the goods that were on auction in order for his lottery network to have a chance; how the business would probably sink without it and how impossibly expensive the hard-to-find equipment was if bought new. She curled closer, and for a moment Phineas let himself slump into her, face pressed into her hair. Under her fingers, Charity could feel frayed spots in her husband’s clothes, and she added them to her mental list of things to repair before the cold _really_ set in.

“I _did_ , however, manage to get _something_ for an absolute steal.” She stood back a little and let Phineas pick up the box he’d deposited on the top of the sofa, curiously peering inside when he presented it to her with a flourish. “Since we don’t have any of our own.”

“Christmas decorations,” Charity said in surprise, lifting one or two out of the box and adding the adjectives _broken_ and _old_ to the description of the box’s contents in her head. “Phin…” She hesitated, rifling through the box so she could hide her face until she’d sorted through her emotions. She trusted him to not have spent _too_ much on the box of decorations, but there was still something disappointed and resigned within her that he’d spent anything at all on something she’d been glad not to have. There had been so much pomp and splendour around her during her Christmases growing up, and whatever wonder she’d felt for the holiday in her younger years had been thoroughly and methodologically rubbed out by understanding and the realisation that everything _pretty_ and _splendid_ had done nothing to hide the empty, chilly _absence_ of the house. One could stuff themselves full of turkey and pudding and still be empty, she knew from experience. “They’re rather… uh…”

“In need of a good restoration,” Phineas finished for her easily. “I know. But I thought… we have a lot of time before Christmas. I thought we could spend nights sitting together and… livening them up?”

_That_ made the smile return, and she lifted her head to his, grinned, and then kissed him on the cheek. “Yes. That’s a wonderful idea.”

She still felt wary about actually decorating for Christmas, but the idea of partnering with Phineas to create something wonderful out of something downtrodden and abandoned was thrilling enough to make her set aside her worry that she’d turn their comfortable little home into something unauthentic and impersonal with the façade of _stuff_ everywhere to boast about something that she did not see as boastworthy. They’d cross that bridge when Christmas came closer. For now, she simply set the box aside, dished them both the simple dinner she’d made and spent the rest of the evening learning about Phineas’ day and sharing hers.

They’d tucked themselves into bed, wormed around each other and sleepily content, when one of Charity’s quick fixes came undone. Phineas noticed the noise, and as much as she longed to protect him she would never lie to him, which resulted in a number of confessions about parts of the house coming to light. He was silent as he got up to re-apply her temporary fix for the night, and silent when he came back to bed, lying somewhat stiffly in her arms. She tried to reassure him by explaining that it didn’t matter so much to her, really, but her words only made him sigh and hold her closer.

“Charity, sweetheart…” He hesitated and she gave him her full attention, knowing that when her Phin chose to mull over his words so very carefully that the matter was something serious and fragile. “You have never had to experience what a _cold winter_ means. Not really – you’ve always had adequate shelter to prevent you from having the knowledge of how serious it is.” Her heart constricted and dropped at the implications, even as Phineas began stroking her hair. “I’m going to make sure it stays that way,” he murmured at her, conviction thick in every syllable. “I’ll stay home tomorrow to mend the things you’ve noticed. Please do tell me _everything_ that needs to be done in the morning _._ ”

He drew back a little to look into her eyes, serious, and she could only nod, the lump still in her throat. After she’d given her mute promise, his face once again softened, and he kissed her forehead in thanks and then her nose, her lips, her jaw in goodnight, succeeding in making her laugh a little, even though there was still an ache inside her for all the years she didn’t have the power to take from his shoulders.

They had breakfast together in the morning before Phineas put on his oldest clothes and set about fixing the house while she set about mending his clothes. She was done with her task before he was done with his and, not wanting to clean the house when there was still a possibility of it getting dirty from the other mending jobs still to come, she set about fixing some of the less-damaged Christmas decorations. She soon set that task aside, however; it seemed she’d need Phin beside her to make the magic the objects were supposed to represent come to life. Instead, she grabbed a basket and some money and went to replenish their grocery list, taking her time to meander and barter and chat to some friends she was making along the often-travelled routes she now took.

When Charity returned, it was to the sound of a distant raucous on one of the upper floors. She started up the staircase, curious and surprised and without any trepidation, until she was a staircase away. As she mounted that last flight of stairs, the din of excited calling, angry voices and scandalised whispers finally made something cold and startled whisper in her head that Phineas had something to do with it all. Sure enough, as she slipped around the corner instead of continuing to her floor, she spotted her husband towering above the rest of those crowded in doorways and along the hall. Not only because he was naturally tall, but because he was balanced on a precariously stacked set of boxes, a broken pail and what was possibly a pile of children’s wooden blocks.

“For heaven’s sake, we haven’t even gotten to Thanksgiving yet!” She couldn’t see Mr Kilman’s face, but by the tone of his voice and the way he was shaking his cane at Phineas’ back, he was positively livid with whatever her husband was doing. “Take that garland down, _now._ Hey – _hey._ I swear – ” He shuffled closer angrily while his wife tittered half-audabily to the delightedly scandalised-looking woman standing beside her. “Put that down _right now_ -“

Phineas ignored him and stretched carefully on his toes to hang the garland. For a moment, it wobbled, and then he wobbled, and then it looked as if both would fall. But he kept his balance, carefully, gently coaxed the garland into place and let go with the air of a man releasing a butterfly. The garland stayed in place and, a breathless moment later, young voices cheered in victory. Only then did Charity realise there was a gaggle of children clustered around where her husband balanced, mostly hidden by the throng of adult spectators, all clutching various Christmas decorations Charity recognised from the box Phineas had brought home and all staring at Phineas with various degrees of utter delight on their faces.

“Put this one up, Mis’r Barnum!” a young boy shouted, thrusting a chipped bauble into Phineas’ hands.

“This is preposterous,” an adult muttered, none-to-quietly.

“Barnum, get down from there and take the decorations down, too, man!” Mrs Toldy shouted, glaring crossly from over her spectacles.

“They’re _Christmas decorations_ , not snakes,” Phineas told her, tone exasperated as he glanced at the muttering lot of adults over his shoulder. “You don’t have to pay for them. They’re making the children happy and will make the building festive – I simply don’t understand what the fuss is about.”

“They are old and broken and will only make this place look shabbier than it already is!” Mrs Kilman exclaimed, prompting a few to murmur agreements. “If you want to put up such… such… awful mess, do so in your own home!”

“And at the appropriate time,” Mr Kilman jumped in. “Not in _November_. It’s against tradition!”

Charity could tell it cost Phineas a lot not to roll his eyes. Before he could reply, some of the children piped up, encouraging him not to listen to the adults. This, of course, sparked an outrage about disrespect, and as the muttering grew some eyes found their way to Charity where she stood just at the top of the stairs.

“Well? Mrs Toldy yelled, loud enough to make most of the hallway quiet down and look Charity’s way. “Are you going to do something about this, or are you just going to stand and observe?”

Charity calmly placed her basket of groceries on the ground and made her way towards where Phineas balanced, pretending to be unaffected by the gazes that followed her movements. She wordlessly held out her hand once she reached Phineas’ side, and he deposited the latest decoration he’d been handed – a knitted reindeer with only three legs and one antler – into her hand. Charity turned around and very decisively hung the bedraggled animal right over Mrs Toldman’s door before holding out her hand to the gaggle of children and asking for the next decoration. They were only too delighted to oblige, and Charity had to work hard at not looking at Phineas’ face lest the proud, triumphant grin she _knew_ he’d be wearing made her lose all grasp of her dignified, unaffected air.

“The others still need to be fixed,” Phineas told the children as they made their way up the stairs, both of them ignoring how Mrs Toldy was ripping down the reindeer above her door with fury. “Once they’re done, we’ll call you and you can help us set them up all over the building. Does that sound fair?”

A chorus of _yes_ es sounded, even though some of the faces before them still didn’t lose the looks of disappointment that they’d gained when the last decoration had been put up and they’d been told there was no more for the day. One bold little boy came forward and tugged on Phineas’ shirt.

“You’re _sure_ Santa knows where we live?” he said, seriously. “Because Mama said that he might not be able to find us t’ bring a present, this year.”

Phineas knelt down, face serious. “There will be a present waiting for you on Christmas,” he promised solemnly, and the boy positively _beamed_ before scurrying off with the rest of the children. Phineas scratched the back of his head. “Hmm. We may need to have a meeting with all the parents in here. We can’t have Santa visiting some children and not all of them…”

Charity rested her chin on his shoulder, thinking about how they barely had enough to live off of themselves, thinking about how she knew Phineas would do whatever it took to make sure the children _all_ had Christmas presents, even if they were simply decorations or new socks, thinking about how much she loved the man in front of her and how she could not wait to see him be a father one day.

“We have a while yet until Christmas,” she reminded him, soothingly. “And we will make a plan.” His hand slipped into hers to solidify the promise of _together_. “May I ask how on earth this came about in the first place?” she laughed as they made their way up the stairs.

Phineas laughed. “I was taking some of the lost causes outside to the trash and one or two of them saw the decorations and the question of why we wait so long to decorate for Christmas came up and… Long story short, children are very persuasive.”

“Hmmm. I’m sure they had to twist your arm very much,” Charity said, one eyebrow quirking.

Phin’s answering grin was wholly unrepentant. They cleaned the house together, ate leftovers from the previous night’s meal and then set about mending Christmas decorations as they’d promised, Charity half in Phineas’ lap as they worked and discussed possible solutions to the promise of Christmas presents they’d given the building’s children. She remembered not reaching for a new decoration and setting aside her needle and thread for a moment of rest, eyes itching in tiredness. She remembered leaning against Phineas and watching his hands deftly sew in a motion they had been taught before she’d known him. She remembered him humming Christmas carols into her ear, and laughing at her sleepy attempts to harmonise.

And then she remembered nothing at all until she woke up and found herself, fully clothed, in bed, with Phineas curled up beside her. It was warm under the blankets, and she knew moving would risk waking Phineas, but the dress she was in was uncomfortable to sleep in, and her bladder needed emptying. So she eased herself out of bed, skipped the floorboards that creaked and took her nightdress with her to the sitting room area of their small apartment so there would be less risk of waking Phin. The moon was high and bright enough that it was easy to see her surroundings, and the sight of the decorations hanging in the kitchen and sitting room made her stop in her tracks.

She hadn’t seen those in the box and, when she looked closer, she realised they’d been made from broken glass and other broken objects from their home all painted green or red with paint she could still see sitting innocently underneath the table. The decorations glittered softly in the moonlight, nothing at all like the spectacle of Christmas décor she was used to. They were real and messy and a little odd and out of place, not just because of the earliness of their arrival. They were nothing at all like home, and she loved them all immediately and immensely.

But then, she realised as she curled back into her sleeping husband’s embrace, trying to pretend she hadn’t cried a little, that place had never been home, had it? _He_ was home. _They_ were home. She fell asleep with the beginnings of excitement and hope about Christmas stirring within her.


End file.
